


The Knight and The Gladiator Part 2

by EbonyAura



Series: The Adventures of the Knight and the Gladiator [2]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers: Prime
Genre: Anxiety, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Battle, Dimension Travel, F/M, First Kiss, First Love, Flashbacks, Fluff, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Panic, Slow Romance, continuity crossover, mentions of a gladiator's code of honor (if they ever had one), poor tlk optimus is still waiting on his ice cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:34:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyAura/pseuds/EbonyAura
Summary: All things considered, Optimus was actually having a decent week. It's too bad his past wouldn't leave him in peace. And the insecticons. Did he forget to mention the insecticons ruined it too?But Megatron's around, and he's proven himself a mech to draw out emotions that Optimus has never felt before.
Relationships: Arcee/Bumblebee, Megatron/Optimus Prime
Series: The Adventures of the Knight and the Gladiator [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665187
Comments: 18
Kudos: 87





	The Knight and The Gladiator Part 2

**Author's Note:**

> You ever been told by an actual published author that you can't write for sh** and then wrote anyway?
> 
> Yeah that's me. I must be either stubborn or stupid.
> 
> Anyway, here's the next part to the Continuity Crossover Story I wrote for MegOp week earlier this year. I suggest reading the first work of this series, "The Knight and The Gladiator" before reading this, cause otherwise this one will make zero sense. 
> 
> Warnings: There's some fights. There's a battle. Yes I hurt a main character in the making of this story. There's some continuity confusion. There's some emotionally oblivious war veterans trying to figure out what's going on. And there's a fluffy ending. 
> 
> I don't own the characters or their universes. I just like playing with them. Enjoy the mess.

Two yellow blurs moved across the landscape, revolving around one another ominously. One of the mustangs swung around to drift on the curve, the rubber of their tires kicking up smoke as they burned against the ground. At a distance from the circle they were tracing, bots were gathering, their electro-magnetic fields flickering with amusement at the show.  
  
“Bee, take ‘em out!!”  
  
Crosshairs shouted from next to Drift at one of the mustangs, his servos flying up as he did. As if goaded on, the mustang closest to the east suddenly transformed, his armor folding up and into the form of a body. He dived into the smoke cloud, intent to make the first move against his opponent. The other yellow mustang’s tail lights lit up the smoke cloud as he gunned it in reverse, letting the first fall in front of him and have to catch himself in a roll.  
  
“Come on, Bumblebee!”  
  
“You got this, Bumble!”  
  
Arcee and Bulkhead cheered on a couple lengths away from the paratrooper. The other mustang jumped up into transformation, running at the other to catch him off guard. But the Bumblebee from the next universe seemed to be familiar with being caught off guard, his gleaming battle mask clicking shut over his face seconds before impact. They both tumbled out of the smoke, the Bumblebee from this universe pinned and caught at the bottom as they hit the ground.  
  
The Prime watched as his scout only let himself be at a disadvantage for a moment, using his weight to tip the scales and roll them over. A small hint of pride pulled at his otherwise anxious field, and his lip plates twitched upward for a moment.  
  
This was no regular sparring, nor was it governed by any sense of order or system of points. It was brutal, rough and relentless, a battle without regards for much honor. It was also very much out of his depth when there were no rules to follow, an implied do-everything-but-actually-maim-one-another kind of fight, which made him nervous. Was there any real stopping point before each Bumblebee left dragging themselves towards the half-built medical clinic in their settlement? At this point, it definitely didn’t seem like it.  
  
Hound, the other universe’s appointed medic, had explained that these kinds of fights were normal where they came from. They didn’t see the point in holding back for rules or points. And though it was pit to deal with the aftermath as an on-the-fly hired medic, it helped them release the pent-up energy in their systems. The other Optimus Prime, when asked, gave him a similar answer, citing that it aided his refugees in trusting him when he allowed them their own outlet to adjust to their new situation.  
  
As a leader who knew too well about earning the trust of his own soldiers, the Prime accepted it and worked to accommodate it. Though he’d be lying if he didn’t acknowledge how drastically… _different_ these mecha from the other universe were. His team would’ve just called them scary.  
  
This fight between the Bumblebees had been oncoming for a while. Probably since the moment they met. After the portal was finally complete and the ceasefire between Autobots and Decepticons was put into the terms of a peace treaty, Optimus actually had very little trouble convincing the last of his people to come with him. Whether it was because this Cybertron was still whole and in its allotted solar system, or because the humans from the other universe were preparing to launch a full-scale nuclear missile attack against their neighbors, he couldn’t tell precisely. All he knew was that Optimus returned through the portal with a few hundred survivors scrambling for their lives. He'd looked shaken and grim, but thankful. Right after him came his second-in-command, Bumblebee, and pit if _that_ wasn’t an interesting mirror image.  
  
They’d greeted each other respectfully, of course, approaching one another with hardened courtesy and curiosity. But as the weeks had gone by in the slow construction of a settlement, the Prime’s scout kept glancing at his doppelgänger with a darkening glint to his optics. The _other_ Bumblebee didn’t have doorwings, he had slots for pistols and wielded a _war hammer_. The _other_ Bumblebee was his leader’s most trusted friend, second-in-command and set to take over leadership in his absence. The _other_ Bumblebee could actually speak, and on top of that, had learned how to use the _radio_ as another language…  
  
Jealousy was a strange look on his scout, by no means pretty, and had evolved into the two of them at last deciding to hash it out for the win.  
  
The Prime looked up from the fight for a moment, turning his gaze towards the other Autobot leader who stood on the other side of the circle. His stance portrayed indifference, his arms loosely crossed over his chest and his hip cocked to one side as he watched the fight. But the Prime could see how those electric blue optics scrutinized every movement, brightening every time his Bumblebee had the advantage. Act as he might when directly questioned, but the Prime knew Optimus cared deeply about every last one of his survivors, no matter who they were or what they’d done. Perhaps especially Bumblebee; there was an intense bond between Optimus and his SIC that the Prime had yet to understand, something like the mentorship and brotherhood once shared between Orion Pax and Megatronus.  
  
At the thought, his gaze shifted over one, resting on the leader of the Decepticon faction. It was not unusual at this point to see the silver mech at his look-a-like’s side more often than not. In a very short period of time, they seemed to have come to an understanding, and had formed a friendship. Megatron also stood with an air of nonchalance, but he was openly displaying his enjoyment of the fight, smirking at the two scouts and occasionally commenting to Optimus next to him. The other leader did not respond out of side glances and short acknowledgements, his focus more on the fight.  
  
When the glow of Optimus’ optics intensified, the Prime looked back down. The two yellow bots had rolled again, with his scout front-down on Cybertron’s surface and his arms pinned painfully behind his back. It was a final position he could not get out of, with the other Bumblebee hovering above him with a triumphant tilt of the helm.  
  
The Prime frowned, deciding that was enough brutal rough-housing for one cycle, and went to enter the circle to break it up. But Optimus had already beaten him to it, making him halt as the other leader was already halfway into the circle. Instead of stopping at their sides and asking them to part, however, the other leader bent over the two of them, grabbing his Bumblebee by the back of his neck and lifting him away from the other scout. The electricity in Optimus’ optics crackled as he leaned over his SIC’s shoulder, meeting those round optics through a yellow battle mask.  
  
“You’re not fighting fair, old friend.”  
  
Everyone watching only had a moment to blink before Optimus rose to his full height and threw Bumblebee up over his helm, going down to one knee to slam his SIC on the ground. Then, like a poorly-built grenade, Bumblebee’s frame shattered on impact, parts of him flying and bowling in every direction. His helm spun a few ped lengths away from his leader, landing to stare back at him vacantly.  
  
The Prime shuttered his optics in shock, and all bots present from this universe jolted stiff. Even Megatron froze where he was, staring at the other Autobot leader for the action. Still on his front on the ground, the other Bumblebee beeped shrilly in horror, his doorwings flaring up.  
  
 _“O-Oh Primus—”_ his voice box buzzed. _“Is he…?!”_  
  
“Forgot you guys haven’t seen ‘im do this yet.” Crosshairs finally pitched in, an oddly bored expression on his face as he nodded towards the pieces of his comrade. “Wait for it.”  
  
In a collective silence, the bots from this universe continued to gawk at the scene. Optimus paid them no mind, rising to his peds as he stared expectantly at the lone head of his SIC. Then, in another shock to his audience, the pieces of the yellow bot began to move in the opposite direction. Arcee and Bulkhead both jerked back in bewilderment as the unmanned cannons fired off, flying towards the rebuilding body. The Prime and Megatron both observed in unmasked fascination as the pieces of Bumblebee slammed back together, his body twisting in the air around the borders of its magnetic field as it pulled him back together. Landing gracefully in front of his leader, Bumblebee bent down to pick up his head and snap it back into place as his radio began playing.  
  
 **“Come on!... What’s wrong with being confident?”**  
  
A male voice whined through his radio as the yellow bot looked up at his leader, followed by the purr of a female singing as he swaggered shamelessly. On the ground, the other Bumblebee’s slackened faceplates echoed the awe of everyone else from this universe. Drift huffed at the yellow bot with an unamused brow lift.  
  
“Hmm, smartass.”  
  
He remarked. Optimus stared back at his old scout evenly.  
  
“Bumblebee, I must ask you to give respect to those from this universe who are graciously sharing their home with us. This includes knowing when to stop in a duel.”  
  
The mention of home wiped the snarks and smirks off the faces of all bots present from the other universe. The yellow bot sobered instantly, standing more at attention and nodding in comprehension to his leader. Then, he walked past him and towards his double, who still gaped at him from the ground. Bumblebee’s hard expression eased, and he held out a servo to him.  
  
“Sorry about that.” He said in his own voice. “I got carried away. But you’re a great fighter, and I hope this isn’t the last time we duel. No hard feelings?”  
  
On the ground, the Prime’s scout shuttered his optics, his expression unwinding before he accepted the servo and heaved himself up. His wings twitched as he looked back at his doppelgänger with a devious flash to his blue optics.  
  
 _“Don’t worry. This isn’t over by a long shot.”_  
  
The other Bumblebee beeped back. They shared a similarly evil, individual glance that each Prime knew was unique to their scouts, and both Autobot leaders looked up at one another to share that small bit of inside amusement. At the far edge of the circle, Crosshairs groaned.  
  
“All this mush is makin’ me sick. When do we get to see a _real_ fight? Like Mr. Leader-of-the-Free-Galaxy against his double? I’ve been waitin’ on that one for weeks!”  
  
“Do you ever think about anything else besides fighting?”  
  
Arcee asked incredulously, one of her metal brows arching. The paratrooper turned to her, his sneer quickly turning into a grin.  
  
“I sure can, mama.”  
  
He flirted, giving her a wink. The femme’s lip curled up in disgust as she fought off a scoff, walking towards the two Bumblebees. Optimus shifted his attention to Crosshairs.  
  
“Any duel we may have will not take place until we have completed the rest of the settlement’s habitat complexes. As of yet, there is much work to be done. I suggest we return to it.”  
  
The leader spoke pointedly, to which the paratrooper grunted and walked off from the circle, followed shortly by Drift. With that, the rest of the circle of bots broke up, meandering back to the construction site. Scanning the bots as they walked away, the Prime took a moment to notice Arcee with the other Bumblebee. Her expression had drastically changed to an easygoing smile as they walked, and he thought he caught a glance of her side-stepping closer as she started up a conversation about his previously unknown ability. His lip plate pulled upward at the sight.  
  
In the meanwhile, he looked back to see Optimus lagging behind to bring up the rear of the small crowd. It was a behavior he noticed happened more often in the presence of his survivors and without the pressures of war. Rather than take the lead, his counterpart was more likely to be sure that no bot was left behind. To his credit, it made keeping track of both of their groups much easier when Optimus Prime could _technically_ be in two places at once.  
  
Caught up in his musings, it took the Prime a little longer to notice when his ex-enemy and now co-leader strode up beside the other red and blue mech, then slowed his pace to meet his. He observed curiously as their helms turned towards one another and Megatron struck up a conversation. The silver mech gestured as he went, and after a few moments something he said made Optimus shed a small smile, shaking his helm somewhat absently as he replied. Back and forth they went as they walked back towards the site, their body language as laid back as it could be given their positions and bantering about a topic he could not hear.  
  
The Prime could not tell exactly when it began to shift, but he knew it started with Megatron. His helm tilted closer to Optimus, his usual smirk easing into something gentler. Something the Prime had not seen in a very long time. His metal brows furrowed as Megatron’s gestures calmed, and his crimson optics began to glimmer. When he spoke, his intake moved less, as if quieting. In response, Optimus shuttered his optics, staring at him for a klik or two before averting his gaze as he replied. This pattern repeated a few more times as they conversed. To the Prime, it felt like his counterpart did not know what to make of Megatron’s words, whatever they may have been.  
  
After watching them for a little longer, the Prime turned back towards the half-built habitat complexes, pondering the expression on Megatron’s face. He could only recall seeing it a few times before. The most memorable was in the dead of the night cycle four millennia ago, when Orion Pax had amusedly fended off the advances of a drunken Megatronus.  
  
***  
  
“Alright, take it back a little bit… Right there! Hold it Optimus!”  
  
Hound called out from above him, and he halted, shifting to ground himself where he was. The sizzle of a welder crackled above his helm as the technical specialist worked with the metal beam Optimus had aided him in stabilizing. After this one, the complex's internal structure would be complete, and they would be able to move onto siding. He’d need to consult some of the vehicons from Megatron’s faction, they were working to shape steel sheets into wall siding for each complex with the help of his SIC, and a few other survivors from their universe.  
  
It seemed that the bots of this universe were not so familiar to the concept of rebuilding. Especially the vehicons, who were used to mining work and surveillance. To Optimus and his refugees, who had been rebuilding out of scraps on the fragments of a planet for almost a year, their lack of knowledge was laughable. The concept of the Omega Lock was laughable too, at least in the viewpoint of his people. They’d dealt with too many outstanding artifacts or magical deities to let any god-given tool do the work they could do themselves. And really, what was was the point of rebuilding entire cities when their numbers barely amounted to over a few hundred? None of the bots from this universe were able to supply a proper response.  
  
They set to work without a moment’s delay, already decided on their habitat designs. The rest of the bots from this universe simply followed in step, usually looking to his refugees for direction. Optimus couldn’t help his contentment at how well they were not only adjusting to this Cybertron, but how well they were getting along with Megatron and his counterpart’s soldiers. It definitely helped the ex-Decepticons among his group to find company with the vehicons.  
  
Exceptions among this universe’s Cybertronians that could build were surprisingly Bulkhead and Megatron. If either of them weren’t going over design plans to seek out any faults, then they were assisting in the heavy lifting, holding beams in place or working alongside the Dinobots to transport wall sidings between structures. Apparently, that was quite a sight for the bots of this universe, who had never seen Dinobots of such gargantuan size, or at all. They gawked, gaped, and Optimus did not miss the incredulous stares flashed his way when his refugees explained how these ancient warriors came to be under his command.  
  
Be that as it may, Grimlock and his brethren were primal by nature. They desired freedom, took to it when construction tasks bored them, and wandered the face of this Cybertron often. He allowed it, so long as they returned in one piece before the nearest star set over the horizon. In those times, the rest of them adjusted to fill their roles. Even the leader of the Decepticons.  
  
In fact, it wasn’t any surprise at this point to see Megatron passing by with two beams balanced between the spikes of his shoulders, or a whole sheet of metal siding on his back. While it was, admittedly, a feat of strength to be admired, Optimus questioned the sanity of carrying more than enough weight to throw one’s back strut out of alignment.  
  
Another good question to ask: why the frag did he keep thinking about it?  
  
Shaking his helm at himself for the odd thought, he looked up at Hound and the sparks coming off his welder. There were much more important tasks he should be giving his attention to, and what business did he have pondering the way someone else worked? Megatron was no light-weight frame, he’d been a gladiator as well as miner in ages past. Perhaps it was a matter of ingrained habit that he took on so much without trouble.  
  
His optics shifted his gaze outward towards the other complexes. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen Bulkhead or Megatron since the fight between the Bumblebees a few hours ago. For Bulkhead, it was normal. Despite his size he could be elusive when at work guiding construction progress. For Megatron, it was a bit odd. Since arriving on this planet, he never went a day without seeing those crimson optics, much less a few hours. Perhaps at least four times a day, that silver frame found its way into his line of sight. Those crimson optics always accompanied it, as piercing as they were stoic when their gazes met. They became a part of a somewhat steady routine, and removing them, even for as little time as it had been, was a bit jarring. Perhaps he’d needed to take a different route to the other end of the settlement? Complexes to the far west still implied a path through this sector--  
  
And there he went again.  
  
Optimus blinked, his processing threads coming to a sudden halt. Every time that fragging mech entered his thoughts, he took them and ran. Each time, it became more difficult to stop him. Or to realize he’d taken them in the first place.  
  
A low growl rumbled beneath his chest plates. Offlining his optics, he leaned his head forward and knocked his helm crest against the beam with a small clang. He was getting too old for this confusing slag.  
  
The sizzle of the welder above him continued to crackle, but was accompanied by a vibration in the metal.  
  
“You good down there, boss? Got a processor ache?”  
  
Jolting at the sound of a voice, Optimus instantly onlined his optics and looked up. The technical specialist and impromptu medic had leaned over the side to glance down at him. His metal brow had raised above those humble optics and, _dare_ he make any comparison to _humans_ , bushy beard.  
  
“I’m fine, Hound.”  
  
He replied, letting his gyros recalibrate for stabilization as he shifted his struts against the beam. The rotund green mech hummed, a note of dubiety dancing within it as he focused back on his task.  
  
“Uh huh. And when I gotta ask that other medic how to rewire the inside of your head ‘cause you blew a fuse thinking too hard, you’ll be fine then too?”  
  
Hound questioned rhetorically. Optimus felt his lip plates quirk up at the edges, unable to help being amused. A few moments passed before the green mech spoke up over the welder.  
  
“Boss, listen. If you’re still steaming about those meatbags destroying the fragments, I’d let it go.” He began, his tone wisping around the cigar bullet between his lip plates. “Cybertron was lost the moment the war got a hold of it. Now we got a planet a whole universe away, thanks to you. And personally, I don’t think they’re worth it. If the debris didn’t squish ‘em in the end, the radiation did it.”  
  
Optimus nodded absently, pulling his optics away to look eastward. It wasn’t what was actually bothering him, but it was still a controversial thought for his spark to absorb. As much as their inevitable self-destruction settled the turbulence of betrayal, it pulled at tendrils of sorrow. He could never quite forget that among the humans were those like Sam Witwicky, who’d died for his friends. Viviane Wembley, who’d defied the odds and retrieved the staff from Quintessa’s grasp. Cade Yeager, who’d saved his life without hesitation, and had taken care of the Autobots in his absence.  
  
He couldn’t help but flinch at the thought of Cade Yeager. Hoping Hound hadn’t seen it, he buried the thought in the recesses of his processor as quickly as he could. _No, absolutely not._ Optimus wasn’t ready to face the implications that came with Cade. Not the guilt, not the grief, none of it.  
  
Forcefully, he focused harder on his outward surroundings, resolving that Hound was right. The fragments were gone, the humans were gone, and his people had a second chance. Better to focus on the future rather than what they’d left behind.  
  
Something bright red caught his optic in his driven concentration, and the leader recycled his vision to watch the mecha pass by around them, all blissfully unaware of his turmoil. After a few moments passed searching for it, he found it emanated from someone tall emerging from in between the two structures across from him. It took a klik, but Optimus soon recognized those arched shoulders, the blue helm, and the audial antennae on either side of it. He blinked as his counterpart approached. What was the other Prime doing over here? Hadn’t he resolved to assist in the southern sector of complexes today?  
  
Absently, he stood up straighter as the other Prime came to a stop in front of Hound’s structure, nodding respectfully.  
  
“Optimus, Hound. How is your progress fairing?”  
  
The green mech perked up from where he was on top of the beams, leaning down to mock salute the other leader.  
  
“Just about ready for siding here. Your bots need another welder? I got a spare in my subspace.”  
  
Politely declining with a shake of his helm, the other Prime looked up at the impromptu medic.  
  
“No thank you Hound, we have all the necessary tools to continue in our sector. However,” he added, turning to Optimus, “I hoped to ask for your assistance. A few of our structures are also ready for siding, and without the dinobots, it falls on us to transport the material. I do not wish for anyone who cannot handle the weight to be injured in the process.”  
  
Optimus felt his cables relax a bit. Usually when the Prime approached him it was with grave matters at servo. Immediately he nodded, looking up at the green mech above them.  
  
“Hound, are the beams structurally sound?”  
  
The welder’s sizzle snapped off for a few nanoseconds, and he bounded up and down on the metal poles.  
  
“Yeah, they’re good. Bring me back some siding while you’re at it, will ya?”  
  
Nodding in acknowledgement, the leader stepped away from where’d he been standing against the beam, scrutinizing it for another few nanoseconds to be sure it didn’t wobble. It didn’t, and he gestured up at his technical specialist.  
  
“We’ll bring siding after supplying materials to the southern sector.”  
  
With that, the other Prime turned towards the middle partition between the habitat structures, and Optimus followed his counterpart.  
  
Mecha passed by around them, talking and shouting at each other as they went. Many of them carried supplies, growling at others to get out of the way before they were knocked out. Barricade’s voice was one that bled into the cacophony, carrying steel rods over his shoulder that poked out like spears. Optimus nodded to him as he passed, receiving a grunt back that turned into a snarl when someone stepped in his path. As much as he attempted to focus on their surroundings, it was the silence between him and his counterpart that resonated strongest. It felt audible as they strode through in the direction of the vehicons’ sector, respectful in all obviousness but a bit awkward. Apparently a commonality shared between the Primes no matter what universe.  
  
But it didn’t last long. He only had so much time to recognize Crosshairs and Drift were arguing over raftors until the other Prime spoke.  
  
“I never had the chance to thank you earlier, for stopping the fight before any injuries could present themselves.”  
  
Optimus turned quickly to glance at his counterpart, hoping his startlement was not as visible as he thought it was. The other Prime was staring back, cerulean optics gleaming, showing gratitude. He inclined his helm.  
  
“Past experiences in our universe have warranted my SIC to be lethal at all costs.” Optimus relented, flashes of Bumblebee under his sword arising in his processor. “His actions became dangerous towards your scout, and for that I apologize.”  
  
Shaking his helm, the other Prime brushed his field against him, calm and naturally professional as they walked.  
  
“No apologies are necessary, my friend. The way they fight is the way of your people, and we are all still adjusting to one another. I am in no position to restrict what works to keep our alliance intact.”  
  
The words glided smoothly over his audials and wrapped themselves in his thoughts. Finding himself at a loss that such consideration for his refugees existed, after everything, continued to shock him. Optimus could only give back a brush of an acknowledging EM field.  
  
Better yet, he still found it odd to speak to his counterpart, a mech whose processor worked _identically_ to the way his threads used to weave themselves before the battle of Chicago. He’d lost that diplomatic grace the other Prime still portrayed, traded it for something colder, hard bent on survival. It was unlikely he’d ever get it back, but he saw no reason to try. No one else had lamented the loss of his restraint and refinement.  
  
One mech, in fact, had applauded it.  
  
 _“You face your fears every day, refusing to let them stop you. You see your flaws of oath, and you seek redemption for them, Optimus--”_  
  
There he went. _Again_.  
  
Optimus felt his digits tremble in frustration.  
  
The other Prime noticed the awkward silence persisting once more between them, and reset his vocal pipes to continue.  
  
“I’ve noticed, in fact,” he started, unknownst to the relief Optimus felt when he distracted him from his musings, “that both our peoples seem adept at receiving each other. Despite the fight today, your SIC has formed a close friendship with Arcee.”  
  
It took his processor threads a moment to connect the designation with the bot from the right universe, but when it clicked Optimus recalled the two walking back to the housing complexes side-by-side. His lip plates twitched upward.  
  
“I’ve noticed that as well.”  
  
Glancing over at his counterpart, he was quite sure they’d come to the same conclusion of the pair. A partnership between them was an amusing thought, one he knew Drift would tease him relentlessly for, and Crosshairs might try to kill him for. Except as soon as it came it departed, and Optimus frowned.  
  
“But my SIC will remain strictly professional. He will not disrupt construction progress with a courtship if you and Arcee do not permit it.”  
  
He declared with stony finality. The other Prime blinked, his upper body turning flawlessly towards him as they continued to walk through the sector. Arched metal brows communicated something like confusion.  
  
“I do not oppose courtships between our soldiers… And I don’t believe Arcee would either.”  
  
The other Prime sighed, a behavior unlike him as he focused forward again.  
  
“She has suffered a great deal in our war. I feel the friendship she shares with your SIC has aided her in opening up to others outside of our team. And any deeper connection, should they choose to make it, could soothe the wounds that never healed.”  
  
His optics widened. Something about those words was jarring. It hit the leader’s spark in a way that almost made him pause in the way of a passing mech, and Optimus forced himself to keep moving towards the vehicon’s sector. As if they were burned onto a repeating record, he saw those flashes of the young yellow mech near death behind his optics. With them, he saw Ratchet melting. Ironhide rusting. Pieces of Jazz flying. It was hard not to flinch.  
  
“... Bumblebee has also endured great hardship.” He grated out, his armor closing tightly over his protoform as an unwanted mood swing began. “I do not wish for him to come to harm again.”  
  
The other Prime glanced over at him, and at Optimus’ surprise, a small grin fell over his counterpart’s face. Almost as if he could see something about Optimus that he could not see himself.  
  
“Arcee is protective of the bots she cares for.” He stated definitively, his voice effortlessly emanating consolation. “She holds a loyal spark, and will be one of the last to let your SIC fall to harm.”  
  
Optimus shared his counterpart’s gaze for a klik as they crossed through another set of complexes. If there was anyone he could absolutely trust on their word, it would be his counterpart. Without pause he felt himself falling into the sense of security the other Prime was talented at giving others. He let it brush away the anxieties that ate away at him relentlessly, allowing him to absorb each word individually.  
  
“She is very much like a gladiator I once knew as Orion Pax,” The other Prime recalled, his voice distant, his gaze retreating. “and I recall vividly how his loyalty to his cause never wavered.”  
  
The mention of a gladiator startled Optimus, kindling his recognition from an encounter recently passed. Their gazes met, and looking through cerulean optics into his soul’s reflection, Optimus knew they were thinking of the same silver mech. His spark pulsed in its casing without a reason he could name, and questions immediately invaded the forefront of his thoughts.  
  
“Orion Pax? You held a previous designation?”  
  
He couldn’t help but ask. His counterpart’s shoulders quickly shifted, as if he was startled by the question. Nevertheless, he nodded.  
  
“I did. I was once a clerk in Iacon’s Hall of Records.” The Prime conceded, then tilted his helm at Optimus. “Your circumstances were different?”  
  
Optimus nodded, curiosity biting him for the history he’d never thought to ask about from his counterpart.  
  
“I was created as a Prime, and ruled Cybertron alongside my brother until he declared war. After that, I was designated as Commander of the Autobots.”  
  
As he spoke, the other Prime’s optics brightened in something between controlled bewilderment and fascination. He hummed thoughtfully as they finally crossed into the vehicon’s sector, the site where they were building siding coming into view.  
  
“I hadn’t thought our past circumstances would be so different despite our experiences in battle. Megatron and I did not know each other until Orion Pax attended one of his sparring matches in Kaon.”  
  
He pondered, optics flicking distractedly to the ground before coming back up to the leader.  
  
“Nor did I realize you knew the Megatron of this universe was a gladiator in the past. Was your brother also a gladiator before his ruling status?”  
  
Optimus shook his helm, feeling his armor tense up as he reflected on that past interaction with the Decepticon leader on the Earth base. The one that had changed everything.  
  
“No. Megatron has revealed his history to me in our previous conversations.”  
  
The other Prime stared at him for a long moment before nodding, averting his gaze.  
  
“I see,” he began, seeming to be gathering his thoughts. “I will admit to some surprise. He usually does not reveal so much of himself to others.”  
  
Optimus, however, did not find himself surprised. His brother was secretive of his own personal life in his time, and much like his own Decepticon counterpart, put up a facade to deter anyone from looking. A facade that, he’d noticed over time, did not apply to him.  
  
They came to the end of complexes in the vehicon sector and neared the building site for siding as the other Prime spoke once more.  
  
“It’s good to know he’s begun to open himself to others. Perhaps his affection for you will also bring positive effects to our alliance in the long run.”  
  
Optimus felt his spark jump in its casing, knocking his entire system status out of alignment. He halted in step, and he stared with wide optics at his counterpart.  
  
“His _what?!”_  
  
Stopping at his openly stunned and indignant exclamation, the other Prime turned around to face him, tilting his helm at him again.  
  
“His affection… You did not know he harbors attraction toward you?”  
  
Optimus could scarcely vent, let alone process what he’d just been told.  
  
“I… He… We…”  
  
But as it sank in, it started to make sense. That strange gleam that he always pulled from those crimson optics. The honesty. The random conversations. Pieces were coming together. The reason for passing by the complexes he worked on. The effort Megatron put into not yelling around him… The conversation after Bumblebee’s fight.  
  
It all joined into the makings of a realization he should’ve come to weeks ago. A realization that shook him to his core.  
  
The other Prime watched him for another klik, observed his utter helplessness in this situation, and he couldn’t help but smile sheepishly. He stepped back towards his counterpart, and compassionately, he laid a servo on the other’s shoulder pauldron.  
  
“I apologize, my friend. I didn't mean to startle you with this information. But what I say is true, he cares very deeply for you. And I believe he’s been trying to convey this to you for a while.”  
  
Against his armor, the touch of a servo felt like electricity, and he would’ve flinched away had he not frozen where he stood. But it brought his systems back into a functioning alignment, even as his spark burned the inside of his casing and his processing threads began to branch into a cyclical conundrum.  
  
What to respond? How to respond? Why in the name of the Allspark did his counterpart know about this first?!  
  
The other Prime’s expression grew steadily more concerned as his optics dropped to the ground beneath him, his frame rigid and his field a mess of emotions.  
  
“Are you alright? Do you need to continue this task at a later time?”  
  
Optimus began to realize how off guard he’d been caught, and he clenched his optics shut and shook his head roughly. Cyclical questions spinning around the inside of his helm were abruptly shunted away, and he grasped his helm to remind himself that he could move his limbs. Venting a few breaths of air, the leader waited until his spark had calmed somewhat before facing his counterpart.  
  
“No. I’m fine.”  
  
The other Prime’s gaze brimmed with uncertainty, but he nodded in conviction, and his counterpart let go of his shoulder. They began walking towards the vehicons, some of whom looked up at their approach. As they went, Optimus felt the other’s field brushing up against his with unspoken reassurance. Subtly glancing over, he pushed his own field out, weaving it with assurance and cohesion. Perhaps his field would never be as gentle as his counterpart’s was, but they balanced each other out, and it was enough for the Prime to pull back and look ahead to catch the attention of the nearest vehicon.  
  
“Oh, good afternoon Prime! Optimus! What can we do for you?”  
  
“Good afternoon Steve,” The Prime began, nodding respectfully in greeting. “Two complexes in the southern sector and one in the west sector are ready for siding…”  
  
Optimus paused beside him, watching them interact. But as they spoke, the volume of their voices began to fade. Every noise seemed to reverse itself to his auditory sense. The closer to him they were, the more they fell into silence. The farther away they were, the more pronounced they became. He shuttered his optics, trying to force this fluke back into normality. But like the chaotic state of the processor that caused it, there was no forcing it to disappear.  
  
He’d been a fool. How had he been such a fool? How could he have been blind for so long?  
  
… How was he to respond to this?  
  
Romantic courtships were not foreign to him. He’d seen his fair share among his soldiers and among the humans. He even found some of them to be endearing. But Optimus had never courted anyone, had never been courted, and had never held any personal interest in courtship. His brother, in their time as rulers of Cybertron, had been protective of him, and any suitors that might’ve wanted to court him were quickly banished from ever seeing him again. In a manner of speaking, Optimus was clueless as to how to receive affection from the silver gladiator.  
  
Perhaps a better question to ask: did he _want_ to receive affection from him?  
  
Background sounds boomed alongside his confusion and deliberation, becoming an annoying contribution to the world around him. They blended and muddled around him, dancing in his processor like reflections trapped in a misshapen mirror. There was too much going on at once. He needed to ground himself, he needed something to grasp. In the midst of the struggle, he settled for opening and closing his fists. It wasn’t ideal, but it worked.  
  
At one point, something long and loud blew against his audials, dissociative enough from the rest of the world to catch his attention. His optics opened, unfocused, and his brows arched as he listened. None of their tools sounded like that, and there were no voices among their survivors that could resonate so rawly. So… primitively.  
  
Optimus turned away from his counterpart and the vehicons, looking towards the eastern horizon. The sound came from that direction. He focused his vision to its sharpest degree. After half a klik, movement separated itself from the stark landscape, and another one of those long, loud roars reached his audials. His optics recycled, recognizing the moving bump of landscape came from not one, multiple figures running over the terrain. One of them was flying.  
  
“Optimus?”  
  
Someone asked from behind him. His audials didn’t register them. He walked away from the building site, heading east. The figures came closer, more distinguishable from the horizon. His spark stopped jumping, sinking into something cold.  
  
What were Grimlock and his brethren doing back so soon?  
  
Why was Grimlock roaring to gain their attention?  
  
 _Why were they running?_  
  
These questions blocked out the others, taking hold of his processor and he began to sprint.  
  
“Optimus!”  
  
His peds pounded the surface as he left the settlement site, only just registering another set behind him trying to catch up.  
  
Grimlock and the dinobots barreled on faster than he ever could. They covered leagues of terrain in a matter of nanoseconds, cutting their distance in half in a klik. His vents chugged air as he ran harder, anxiety chilling every part of his frame.  
  
He slid to a stop, his peds scraping against the ground. A league in front of him, the dinobots did the same, giant screeches echoing from the feet as they clawed at the surface to slow themselves down. Grimlock skated into a slower speed, growling as his monstrous tail waving against his momentum. The dinobots came to a stop around him, stomping and bellowing, shrieking and pawing where they stood. All their fields emanated a collective uneasiness.  
  
Looking around at all of their glowing red optics, Optimus’ gaze fell on the tyrannosaurus rex’s massive head bowed low to the ground and staring right at him. His expression fell to stone as he approached the leader of the dinobot warriors.  
  
“Grimlock. What is it?”  
  
He asked, cutting straight to the point for the sake of their understanding. In response, Grimlock snorted, his tail waving as he curled back around, looking to the east. Optimus followed his optics, stepping in between the Spinosaurus and the Triceratops as they crouched and growled.  
  
There, in the far distance, he could see something else approaching. But instead of blending in with the horizon, it bulged out into something that overtook the sky. His optics blew wide, and his limb struts instantly tensed.  
  
“Optimus? Is something wrong?”  
  
The other Prime jogged up beside him, warily looking up at the dinobots as they hissed and moved about. He glanced over at the leader, then to the eastern horizon. In a matter of nanoseconds, he felt the other’s frame draw stiff and his field curl in on itself.  
  
“An insecticon swarm…”  
  
He declared darkly. As the bulge in the sky approached, Optimus could see how it was spreading out, morphing into numerous bodies with beating wings.  
  
“They must be at least one hundred strong, but the swarm is too far to tell precisely how many.”  
  
The other Prime evaluated quickly.  
  
“There’s enough to overpower the dinobots.”  
  
Optimus replied. Neither of their optics left the horizon as they both lifted their digits to their comm links.  
  
“Prime to Megatron! We have an Insecticon swarm approaching! Report your location!”  
  
“Calling all survivors! Insecticon Swarm incoming! Arm yourselves and report ten leagues east of the complexes!”  
  
Moments after he sent out the call, alarms began to go off in the distant construction sites, and small figures began to run.  
  
“Prime to Megatron! Respond!”  
  
Optimus whirled to his counterpart as he pulled his sword off his back.  
  
“Where is he?!”  
  
He snarled. The Prime turned back to him with darkening optics.  
  
“He’s not responding. I’m only receiving static, his link is down.”  
  
Something between anger and fear assaulted his spark. For his link to be down, it meant he was in an unreachable location, or it was damaged beyond repair. Either of those spelled disaster at the current moment.  
  
Optimus knew his optics flashed. He pushed it away immediately, issuing the protocol to close his battle mask.  
  
“... Then with or without him, we defend our home.”  
  
His spark was whirling beneath his plating, but there was no time to dwell on it. The Prime’s optics flashed momentarily, and like his counterpart he was quick to settle. His battle mask slid into place as his optics cooled into stony neutrality, and a sword slid from his own arm.  
  
“Together, we defend our home.”  
  
Their alliance held true by the sworn oath in their optics, each Prime nodded to one another. From the settlement site, their soldiers were darting out between the structures. Grounders dived into their alt modes and raced after his SIC with a squeal of their tires. Seekers leapt up into the sky, taking off in all directions before falling into formation. Their people stampeded forth and were catching up fast. Optimus turned on a heel towards Grimlock. The dinobot bowed low to the ground, setting his head down. The leader kicked one leg up, mounting behind his horns, and whipped back towards the other Prime.  
  
“Get on!”  
  
He shouted, and his counterpart followed, leaping on behind him. With that, Grimlock rose to his full height, roaring and stomping. Around them, the dinobots bellowed, and they led the warriors in a barreling rush.  
  
“Go for their heads!” The Prime shouted over the crash of Grimlock’s claws, and Optimus tilted his audials back to listen. “Their armor is weakest at the point between the head and body!”  
  
Nodding, Optimus focused back on his comm link.  
  
“All survivors! Attack the head, and shoot for the neck! Grounders and seekers, sound off!”  
  
 _“Grounders affirmative, Optimus.”_ His SIC responded immediately, _“Reporting from five leagues west and closing on your location.”_  
  
 _“Seekers affirmative,”_ Starscream of this universe followed, _“formations two leagues above and closing.”_  
  
From over their heads, jet engines whined as they passed over the dinobots. Optimus followed their progress for a moment before switching his gaze back to the swarm, only one league between them.  
  
Grimlock opened his jaws and released a blaze of fire, the inferno stretching so far it reached the first insecticons who began diverging their flight paths to avoid it.  
  
Pulling his peds underneath him, Optimus crouched over the dinobot’s neck. He glanced backward, sharing a parting glance with his counterpart.  
  
“Keep to the ground, and I will take to the sky.” He ordered, receiving a nod of affirmation. “Be well, my friend.”  
  
Optimus then turned forward, ran between Grimlock’s horns, and leapt up onto the insecticon intent on attacking him first.  
  
The creature shrieked as it flew into him face first, snapping its pinchers and rolling in an attempt to shake him off. The leader clung without mercy, glaring into the red visor before raising his sword and bringing it down behind its head, slicing it clean off. Immediately the creature’s flight path began to dip down, and he crawled up its body as it fell. Pushing off from its thorax, he activated his flight thrusters and flew into the middle of the swarm.  
  
Around him, mayhem erupted. Bright flashes of gunfire rained down from seekers in the sky and bolted up from grounders. He weaved through them, dodging insecticon bodies that suddenly imploded and swerved towards his flight path. From below, he could hear the other Prime yelling commands. Grimlock and the dinobots were leaping upward, grabbing the creatures in their jaws and crushing them. From above, jets circled, formed, and broke formation at Starscream’s order. Insecticon energon splattered from one body to the next, limbs began flying through the air.  
  
He dived from one creature to the next, blasting their heads off or swinging them off with a good _thwack_. They screeched and cried, charging at him as he avoided their blowing impacts by mere scrapes of the armor. Arching back around the side of the swarm that had ceased moving entirely, the leader flew back in again, taking an Insecticon by surprise as he flew onto it from behind, piercing his sword through the back of its neck and skewering its head on his sword. Momentarily shutting down one of his thrusters, he kicked the body downward, and swung his sword hard enough to hurl the helm off. It hit another approaching Insecticon in the face, shattering its visor and sending both careening down to the surface.  
  
A sudden wail from behind caught his audial. Optimus had less than a nanosecond to turn and online his ped thruster before feeling the full force of a rampaging Insecticon hit him in the abdomen. He grunted, feeling the air rush from his vents as the pinchers and antennae of the creature scratched at his plating, digging in and causing his pain sensors to light up. Growling, Optimus armed his blaster, punched it into the side of the Insecticon’s head, and fired. It blew off in all different directions, pieces and energon going everywhere, and he had to turn his face away so that his optics did not receive any damage.  
  
He felt their flight path begin to falter, pulled downward by gravity. Activating his thrusters, he attempted to fly backward from the creature. His progress was blocked when he couldn’t pull away, and pain from his abdominal section shot through his neural net. Glancing down, his optics widened when he realized that sharpened fragments of the neck internals had flung themselves through his armor and between his seams, attaching him to the dead beast. Their speed towards the ground picked up exponentially, and Optimus felt panic sheer his spark as he yanked himself backwards, gritting his denta as the fragments twisted and ripped themselves through his protoform.  
  
“Optimus!!”  
  
Someone shouted from below him, their voice closer than he expected. Glancing out and down, he saw the ground approaching at breakneck speed, and only had mere moments to brace himself. They slammed into the ground, his frame taking the brunt of the impact, and the insecticon body collapsed over top of him, trapping his legs and pelvis into the indent they’d made in the ground. He bellowed as the neck of the creature dug itself into his abdomen, deeping his wounds.  
  
 **“Man down! Man down!”**  
  
He could hear Bumblebee’s radio blasting over the cacophony, and turned his helm to see the yellow mech running towards him. But he didn’t get far when an Insecticon charged him, and he was forced on the defensive. Nanoseconds later, a two wheeler he recognized as Arcee came to his SIC’s aid. Agony flooded his neural net, and he was forced to vent shallowly as he tried to pull himself out from under this dangerous position. The fragments lodged in his armor kept him still, and he swore.  
  
Another screech assaulted his left audial. His helm whipped towards it, and he saw an Insecticon stalking towards him, growling ominously. Groaning, he pulled out his blaster, reaching over to fire as the beast began to charge. Four or five blasts to the face imploded it, and the creature collapsed. Optimus whipped his helm back and forth, blasting at Insecticons as they attempted to charge him while he was down and firing on others to aid other soldiers. In a moment of grim satisfaction, he noticed there were no other bodies of soldiers on the ground yet, only Insecticons. Hopefully that meant the death count was low if it had started yet.  
  
As the creatures’ corpses fell around him, it became harder to see when and where they were coming at him from. He arched and twisted his upper body as best as he could, only catching glimpses of where to aim next. His vents became shallower and his vision became murkier, darker. Annoyance surfaced, and he violently shook his helm, focusing viciously on his surroundings and refusing to succumb. But the more he did it, the less efficient it was, and with every passing nanosecond he was becoming dizzy.  
  
No. He would not succumb. He would _not_ succumb.  
  
From the corner of his right optic, he saw an Insecticon approaching, and whipped around with wild optics to see it. The creature was already charging, and he blasted it with everything he had, killing it just before it reached him. It collapsed a mere arms length away. Momentary relief flooded him, but only until he tried to pull the trigger of his blaster. Nothing happened. He was out of ammo.  
  
Cursing with a groan, he blindly reached for his sword, gazing out of bleary optics at an incoming projectile he was sure was an Insecticon and was coming towards him from the sky. The handle was just out of his reach. Optics widening, vents shortening, he reached as far as he could to the side, helm violently whipping back and forth between the approaching blurry figure and his weapon. Anxiety stabbed at his ebbing concentration, and in a last moment of desperation he twisted around enough that he finally reached the weapon. The fragments twisting in his protoform caused him to shout, and when he regained some sense of clarity he looked back up at what was approaching.  
  
His grappling threads connected enough to realize that whatever it was actually wasn’t as big as an insecticon. But it was optic-catching, light glinting off its wings… And wasn’t slowing down. He shook his head again, trying to follow as its path suddenly swerved around, putting it horizontal to the ground. It’s engines seemed to roar as it closed in.  
  
His optics flashed as he remembered insecticons did not roar.  
  
In the last lengths of the league before crashing into him, the Cybertronian jet flipped and transformed mid-air. Optimus could barely make out Megatron’s form as he howled a war cry, his legs pushed out in front of him and slamming at hundreds of miles an hour against the body of the insecticon that trapped him. The collision was so tremendous it knocked the corpse clean off and sent three others skidding away. He screamed when the fragments lodged in his protoform were swiftly yanked out, pulling him along for a few ped lengths before ripping through him.  
  
Every sensor in his body was on fire, his vision and hearing bled in and out of focus. Grunting, he slowly shifted up from where he’d rolled onto his front, clutching his sword tightly in one servo while the other blindly covered his wounds. Bringing it back into his line of sight, he found a fair amount of energon coating it, but decided he’d had it worse. Cautiously, he put one ped under him, sticking his sword firmly into the ground as he swayed where he rose to one knee.  
  
“Optimus!!”  
  
A familiar rasp called from nearby, and he looked up to see the Decepticon ex-leader running towards him.  
  
“Megatron…”  
  
He ended with a groan, clutching his sword tighter when agony flashed hot through his frame. Even so, it couldn’t quite quell the utter relief that swamped him at the sight of the Decepticon, alive and uninjured. He breathed easier in those few moments as Megatron fell to his knees in front of him, grasping his upper arm struts to keep him upright. His crimson optics were bright with distress.  
  
“Slag it, what happened to you?!”  
  
He growled, looking down at where the Prime’s servo was shakily pressed over his abdomen. Carefully, his claws weaved over his digits, pulling them back to see the wounds beneath. Megatron hissed, immediately replacing his servo and pressing his over it too. At that point, Optimus was certain it was probably worse than he’d assumed.  
  
“Frag…” The Decepticon cursed, looking up and around at the battle continuing around them before returning his gaze. “There’s too many punctures to patch with the supplies I have. We need to get you out of here.”  
  
Optimus looked up and at the ongoing fight. Insecticon bodies littered the surface, and there was a substantial decrease in the amount of creatures in the air. The formation of jets above now outnumbered them, and he could see the seekers chasing after those attempting to retreat. On the ground, soldiers were overtaking the last few creatures still fighting for their lives. The dinobots took on both tasks, and he watched the Pteranodon tackle an insecticon before hurling it into another one, sending them both careening.  
  
Where were the rest of his soldiers? Where were Bumblebee and the Autobot team?  
  
Where was Grimlock? Where was his counterpart?  
  
Who was injured? Who was dead?  
  
So many questions began to race through his stressed processor. He shook his helm at the Decepticon, gritting his denta again as he pushed himself up on his sword to rise to both peds.  
  
“No… Need to… Need to…”  
  
Megatron’s optics widened as he pulled away from his servos. Optimus stood on his own for a few nanoseconds before agony and emergency pings assaulted him, causing him to crumble.  
  
“Slag it Optimus!”  
  
Rushing to his peds, Megatron caught the Prime before he could fall, letting him slump against his broad chest plates. Optimus continued to shake his head, trying to step backward and walk on his own, but his legs were struggling to support his weight, and the Decepticon refused to let him go.  
  
“Optimus stop!” He growled, taking his face in his claws and looking into it with half-crazed optics. “You’re injured and losing energon! If you keep trying to run to everyone else’s aid, _you’ll_ be the one to die. And I _refuse_ to watch _you_ die!! So listen to me and let me help you!”  
  
Freezing where he was, Optimus gaped at those familiar crimson optics as he absorbed what had just been said. Megatron stared intently at him, his face showing open fear. Showing vulnerability…  
  
Warriors did not do that. His brother never did that either. The only time he’d ever seen this before was when Bumblebee, weaponless and prone under his sword, had looked up at him with all the trust and love he’d ever held for his mentor.  
  
His shallow pants began to falter and hiccup as he understood just how right his counterpart had been. Megatron _did_ care, more than he’d ever imagined.  
  
A wave of wet heat washed over his abdominal plating, and he also perceived that yes, he was in fact losing precious fluids. Optimus finally let himself lean fully against the Decepticon. Megatron immediately took it in stride, taking ahold of his arm and stooping to loop it over his shoulders, aiding him to hold up his own body weight.  
  
“There. I’ve got you, Optimus. Just breathe.”  
  
Shuttering his optics, the Prime let the air cycle through his vents, clasping an arm firmly over his injuries to stem the flow of energon.  
  
“Optimus!”  
  
Another familiar voice found its way to him over the diminishing sounds of the battle. His optics onlined in a snap, and he found a stark yellow frame running in his direction. Relief rattled his vents in another shaky sigh.  
  
“Bumblebee.”  
  
He returned the call as best he could, and his SIC jogged around an insecticon corpse with Arcee trailing behind. Coming to a quick stop, both pairs of blue optics shifted from him to Megatron and then down to the energon leaking around his arm. Bumblebee’s faceplates immediately fell in regret.  
  
“Frag, Optimus I’m sorry! I couldn’t get to you in time! I should’ve just dived under the damn bug!!”  
  
His SIC hissed and lamented. Optimus just shook his helm.  
  
“What’s done is done, Bumblebee. I’m just relieved you’re unharmed.”  
  
As he spoke, another tall figure emerged from around another insecticon. It was his counterpart, also uninjured, and soon followed by Grimlock. Both only possessed minor scrapes. The other Prime’s optics widened in surprise when he saw the silver Decepticon present.  
  
“Megatron? Your comm link was down. We assumed something happened to you.”  
  
Optimus felt the silver mech’s helm nod in reply above him.  
  
“You assumed correctly. There was a disturbance at one of the complexes in the northern sector brought to my attention. I investigated it, thinking it was minimal, and found the tracks of something stealing energon. It was not until I followed them out of our settlement that I realized it was a scouting insecticon. Before I could call back to warn you, I was out of receptive range and the insecticon had turned back to get rid of its tracker.”  
  
Optics blowing wide, Optimus’ helm whipped upward to stare at the mech holding him upright, another flash of anxiety grasping his field. They’d been right to assume the worst, but knowing so did not make accepting it any easier. Feeling the shift against his plating, Megatron tilted his helm down to look at the Prime, gaging his reaction. In a moment of what must’ve been pure spited humor, and perhaps solace, the Decepticon pinged his comm link.  
  
 _“Unfortunately for the insecticon, it did not know that it would come to face ME as its tracker.”_  
  
Optimus found himself leveling a flat glare at the silver mech, tempted to crack that prideful, one-sided smirk with a punch. Megatron snickered at his expression, but his smirk softened. After a few more nanoseconds, it faded entirely as he looked back up at his co-leader.  
  
“I see, however, that you all were able to stop the swarm before it reached the settlement. Something else warned you of their arrival, then?”  
  
The other Prime nodded, but it was Optimus who spoke next.  
  
“It was Grimlock and his brethren,” he breathed, finding himself putting more effort into speaking at a normal volume. “they were able to reach us before the insecticons did.”  
  
At the mention of his name, the enormous dinobot leader turned his head towards the mecha below, staring down at everyone present. In the wake of his attention, Optimus bowed his helm in gratitude to the primal warrior.  
  
“We owe you and your brethren our lives. Thank you.”  
  
Without a moment’s lapse, Megatron repeated the gesture, followed by the other Prime and the rest of the bots who were beginning to gather around them. The dinobot snorted, and stared at Optimus for a klik before inclining his massive helm down, then up again in the resemblance of a nod back. Perhaps it was in acknowledgement, perhaps it was his own gratitude at their willingness to help him defeat the swarm. It wasn’t for Optimus to truly know.  
  
He chastised himself for overthinking such a concept, shifting against Megatron and looking back around at the others.  
  
“How many are injured? We need a confirmed count on injuries and casualties to report back to the medics.”  
  
The other Prime’s metal brows furrowed, and immediately he activated his comm link, glancing around at the other soldiers still walking around the field.  
  
“This is Optimus Prime, requesting a status update on casualties and injuries. Please respond.”  
  
He then went silent as replies slowly started coming in. Optimus watched as his expression remained stoic, his optics flashing at some points, but not changing in any significant way. His attention only wavered when all the warmth seemed to suddenly fade from his frame. In its wake, he felt cold, and couldn’t hide the shiver that raced over his struts.  
  
“No casualties to count, as of yet.” The other Prime finally spoke, his optics dim as he focused on the replies that were now flooding his link. “But minor to moderate injuries are up to 30 and counting. Severe injuries are up to 10.”  
  
“Ratchet’s gonna _love_ this. His clinic’s not even _near_ finished yet.”  
  
Arcee quipped with a chuckle, and beside her the Bumblebee from the other universe laughed.  
  
“Yeah, he and Hound are gonna slug us when we get there.”  
  
 _“Optimus?”_  
  
Any alertness he’d held onto drifted away with the loss of body warmth, leaving Optimus exhausted and slumping against the silver mech. Blackness was seeping into the edges of his vision. He knew he needed to stay awake, to keep pressure on the punctures that were leaking fluids, but the exhaustion and chill were taking hold.  
  
He felt Megatron adjust his hold, now pulling him closer to his broad frame and placing a clawed servo over his wet arm to push harder over the wounds. He was steady. He was warm. He was safe. That’s all that mattered.  
  
“Optimus has lost too much energon.” He heard the Decepticon speak, deciding not to care about seeing it when he leaned his helm back against the mech’s chest plates. “He needs immediate medical attention.”  
  
To everyone’s shock, it was Grimlock who moved first. He stomped next to the pair then knelt down, gesturing to them and his back with a giant shake of his helm before resting it on the ground. Megatron did not waste another klik, carefully urging the injured Prime forward.  
  
“Come on. It’s not far.”  
  
Optimus grunted, stumbling forward on unsteady leg struts that Megatron easily compensated for. Every step was excruciating, his entire frame tensing, but the silver mech went slowly, allowing him to reach Grimlock at his own pace. He mounted the dinobot first, then carefully pulled Optimus on to sit sideways against him. Megatron’s arms enveloped him as his vents came in low pants. Grimlock waited no longer before rising to return to the settlement, giving him only one more glimpse of the mecha below as they disappeared.  
  
“W-What about…”  
  
The Prime began to speak, trailing off as exhaustion dissuaded his processing threads from connecting. Megatron looked down at him, squeezing his frame and jolting him awake again.  
  
“What about what?”  
  
He questioned, his tone dipping into that softness he only granted to Optimus. Flickering blue optics focused upward as far as they could, trying to find crimson.  
  
“The… The other injured…”  
  
Optimus hoped that barely perceptible flash was from Megatron’s optics. If it was, it was a flash of comprehension.  
  
“Grimlock and I will return to the battlefield to transport more injured mecha.” The silver mech responded, his clawed servo clasping tight to his energon-soaked arm. “Don’t worry. We will take care of your people, Optimus. I swear it.”  
  
Warmth. Steadiness. Safety.  
  
He was safe. His abdomen hurt, and he felt cold, but he was safe.  
  
His people would be safe. They’d been through the pit, just faced an insecticon swarm, and were probably worse for wear. But they’d be safe too. Megatron and his counterpart would make sure of it. That’s all that mattered.  
  
… But if these facts were all that mattered, then why did he dread the moment Megatron would have to leave again?  
  
***  
  
When his optics flickered online, it was to a sky ornamented in stars.  
  
The sight brought quiet memories to the forefront of his processor, memories of traveling through the vacuum of space. No sound had ever reached him, and its cold depths always bit at his frame. But sights he passed by, the flash of supernovas, the planets ringed by moons, the nebulas that splashed color over the dark sky… They never failed to warm to his weary spark. He couldn’t help the kliks he took to lay perfectly still, taking in the view of the universe as his memory files journeyed far into its depths.  
  
Details and sensations made themselves known as the planet came back into focus. Optimus noticed his view of the sky was, in fact, framed by raftors making up the skeleton of a roof. His neural net pulsed, alerting him to the dull throb emitting from his abdominal protoform and a prickle from the energon piping in one of his arms. Beneath and overtop of his frame, he felt the weight of something thick and heated, slowly coming to the conclusion they were thermal blankets. Around him, soft snores and hissing ventilation systems alerted him to the presence of others.  
  
Optimus blinked tiredly, tilting his helm in the direction of most of the sounds. From what his adapting night vision could make out, he was surrounded by the frames of his fellow mecha, all wrapped in thermal blankets, and a few hooked to fluid drips. Everyone was still, recharging after the hectic day that was slowly being retrieved by his processing threads. Glancing down at his arm, he found that he too had a tube of glowing energon trailing from under his armor to a fluid chamber just out of his line of sight. He must’ve lost enough fluids to warrant a transfusion.  
  
Blurry images passed him by. They showed an insecticon’s neck internals buried into his armor, the ground hurtling towards him at breakneck speed, and his energon-soaked arm covered by the claws of a silver servo. Clenching his optics shut, he pushed them away as best he could, remembering well what his chronometer was telling him happened twelve hours ago. He would have nightmares of this battle, Optimus was sure of it.  
  
Opening his optics again, the Prime turned his helm the other way, hoping to be met with the stars again. Instead, he found a half-built wall a few ped lengths away blocking most of his view. Leaning back against it, he made out the imposing curl of shoulder spikes and an enormous upper frame structure. Optimus felt his limbs twitch in momentary surprise, and he recycled his optics as he took in the mech beside him. Megatron had his cannon-wielding arm propped over the top of a bent knee, his helm turned away and up to the sky. Though it was hard to tell by the angle he perceived it, he could detect the glow of red seeping into the silver plating around his optics. Optimus’ voice box clicked on before he could stop himself.  
  
“What are you doing here?”  
  
He croaked. Megatron’s frame jerked at the sound and his helm swiveled around. Those crimson optics pierced the night, bright despite their obvious fatigue. Optimus watched as the Decepticon’s frame relaxed, and he made out the shape of a small smirk curling onto his faceplates.  
  
“What are _you_ doing awake? You should be resting.”  
  
The silver mech replied quietly, his tone lightly teasing. Optimus had no answer to give to that, he didn’t know either. Instead he stared hazily at the other mech, trying to discern his purpose in being here.  
  
Megatron stared back for about half klik. Then he rolled himself over, putting his peds underneath him to stand and creep closer. He stopped at his berth-side, sitting back against the wall again, but Optimus realized he didn’t have to strain his helm to the side to see him anymore.  
  
“How are you feeling?”  
  
He finally asked, to which Optimus sighed, offlining his optics as one of his servos moved to trace the welds over his abdominal armor.  
  
“Like slag,” he amended, “but dying was worse.”  
  
A moment too late his processor alarmed him that was probably not something he should relate it to. He didn’t like to talk about that experience, preferring to let it sink into the recesses of lost thought, where it belonged. Mecha did not react well to it either, he’d found, and the fear of an unwanted reaction from Megatron onlined his optics in an instant.  
  
Megatron’s gaze, however, did not change, and he caught something like amusement spilling into his EM field as he hummed.  
  
“I know what you mean.”  
  
Optimus blinked, tilting his head at such a statement and reaction. That was a new one, and it made him vaguely wonder what Megatron might’ve endured before they met to say so. He was not given a lot of time to ponder it when the silver mech’s expression hardened. His gaze flicked downward, hovering on the area of his injury under the thermal blanket.  
  
“You lost over half of your fluid reserves. If any more time had passed until you received treatment, your injuries _would’ve_ been fatal.”  
  
His sudden switch to such seriousness felt jarring, he could only nod in acknowledgement of the fact. But it brought to mind the state of his team, his people. Optimus turned back to look out at the mecha recharging around him. He’d must’ve fallen into stasis on Grimlock, nothing was clear after that, and he never had any chance to learn of their conditions.  
  
“What was the casualty count?” he asked, turning back to Megatron. “The final injury count? How many were serious?”  
  
It was Megatron’s turn to blink, taken off guard by the sudden barrage of questions.  
  
“There were no casualties.” He began after a moment. “The final minor to moderate injury count was 82, Severe injuries 15. Two of the severe were brought in critical but stabilized. You're one of them.”  
  
 _No casualties_.  
  
Ease overcame his spark now that he knew everyone came out of it alive. The number of uninjured was definitely higher than the injured. The dinobots came out of it uninjured. In spite of the mess that became yesterday’s events, they held steadfast.  
  
“We were lucky today.”  
  
He commented quietly, and Megatron inclined his helm in agreement.  
  
“That we were.”  
  
Silence fell between them, and Optimus recycled his optics when the image of his energon-soaked arm covered by the claws of a silver servo surfaced. Optimus found himself dwelling on the memory file, observing the moment those claws tightened over his arm. Another memory file took its place, putting him back on Grimlock and in Megatron’s arms before everything went black. He could not recall a time when someone had touched him the way Megatron had in the battle. The sensation of those touches terrified him as much as they intrigued him. They cause prickles of static to tingle over his armor. They left so many questions in their wake, and they left the Prime grasping for answers that weren’t there.  
  
Well, answers that hadn’t been there at first.  
  
Optimus returned back to earlier that day. His conversation with his counterpart, and everything since that proved the other Prime right. His optics drifted up to the ceiling of stars. Now that he thought about it, perhaps he _did_ know why Megatron was here with him, instead of in his own complex.  
  
“I…” he croaked again, glancing back over at the other mech who’s optics were already on him. “I want to thank you, for saving my life.”  
  
The other mech’s helm tilted as the Prime spoke, and he pushed himself off the wall, sitting up straight.  
  
“I would’ve strayed from my code, had I not,” He replied firmly, but his field reached out with the same soft emotion that his optics portrayed. “And I meant it when I said that I refuse to watch you die."  
  
Optimus watched as those crimson optics suddenly offlined, and the ex-warlord’s shoulders rolled up before sinking down, as if they heaved a great sigh encompassing the weight of those words. The weight of what they meant, and the weight of what they could drive him to do. It was a sacrifice of individuality, one that Optimus knew so well, and yet, found himself oblivious to this kind of meaning. Those crimson optics onlined once more, as piercing and steadfast as ever.  
  
“You are my friend, Optimus. And whether it’s acceptable or not, you hold an important place in my spark.”  
  
Something was building in the air between them, he could feel it in his field. The dull throb of his injuries seemed to dissipate in its atmosphere. Megatron’s EM field was tentative, broken out of its usual confidence and barely brushing against him, as if shy. The phantom static prickled up and down his plating, and Optimus felt his spark spiraling between trepidation, fascination, and a strange lightness that felt like hope.  
  
“Megatron… You stated something earlier today, after the fight between the Bumblebees.” The Prime whispered, shuttering his optics as he prepared himself for what he was about to put forth. “You declared that you’ve become more loyal to my way of leadership than to your own cause. Is that true?”  
  
The silver mech did not respond at first, falling into the silence he usually felt comforted by. Optimus opened his optics and looked up at him, finding it hard to discern the way his expression changed in the darkness. But finally, after a long klik, Megatron’s helm moved up and down in a nod.  
  
“It is.” He rasped, each word spoken gradually, but hammered with intent. “You are a great leader and an astounding warrior, Optimus, the best I’ve ever seen. As a mech who once fought for justice, I would readily follow an individual who knows what it’s like to have more than just the world pitted against you.”  
  
He paused, and Optimus caught his helm shaking in the slightest motion. His field echoed disbelief, and to the Prime’s surprise, wonder.  
  
“The pit-spawns, your brother, the humans, the bounty hunter, your creators, the deceiver, transferring universes... Regardless of them all, you’ve held true to your rallying cry. In spite of every mistake you’ve made, you fight for your morals. You seek and you find redemption… You are more than the title ‘Prime’ could ever be. And I don’t think I’ve ever admired anyone more than I do you.”  
  
There it was.  
  
Optimus stared at him, his expression going slack in the face of such a declaration. Megatron stared back, his optics so bright they lit the area around them, and the Prime could feel the same vulnerability from the battlefield laid before them here and now.  
  
“You… you hold affection for me, then.”  
  
He breathed. Megatron nodded again.  
  
“I do.”  
  
The energy in the air raced between them without respite, and it challenged him to find a response. A response that had turned into cyclical chaos in his helm.  
  
Ignoring the dull throb of his injuries, Optimus reached and grabbed the other side of the thermal blanket. This distance between them, in this conversation, it was maddening. Megatron’s optics widened when he pulled himself onto his side to face the Decepticon.  
  
“I… You’ll have to excuse me.” He gasped before the silver mech could speak, trying to catch his breath when the action agitated his injuries and sent pain rushing through his neural net. “I am not well versed in the affairs of the spark.”  
  
Megatron had begun to reach for him, to urge him to lie back down, but his servos halted as he registered what he’d been told. His silver claws retreated, and those crimson optics fell upon Optimus as if he held the world.  
  
“You mean you’ve never participated in a courtship?”  
  
The Prime shook his helm as he propped himself up on his arm, feeling the welds stretch a bit more than they should.  
  
“No…” he replied, watching the claws fall back with flashing blue optics. “My position never allowed for it, nor have I held an interest in one up to this point.”  
  
His words set in, and he felt Megatron’s field pull away as well. Blue optics widened when crimson optics averted to the ground.  
  
“I see.”  
  
Megatron rasped. Optimus watched him further retreat, leaning back to find his place against the wall, and his spark felt dimmer. Before he could think about what he was doing, his servo shot out, and his arm strained against the fluid tube to grab the silver mech’s claws before they were gone.  
  
“Please wait…!”  
  
He yelped, and Megatron froze as the tight grip on his arm stopped him short. Optimus’ field stretched out as far as it could go, weaving around the Decepticon, pleading for him to stay. Every turbulent thought that had revolved around one stupid, well-planned response to this situation faded into a blank background. Every piston, pipe, and piece of armor that built him were poised to an instinct, and that was to hold onto that silver arm. It was so confusing, he had no idea what was happening to him, but he was terrified to face it alone.  
  
Warily, the Decepticon returned to his side, letting his field reach out and weave with the Prime’s. Claws wrapped around the digits on his forearm, covering them in a firm grip and moving them so that they didn’t have to strain against the tube.  
  
“I’m here.”  
  
The silver mech spoke, and the words were bound in a devotion so deep it surpassed Bumblebee’s. Surpassed his brother’s.  
  
Optimus’ digits shook, and he felt his spark shudder inside its casing too.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
Megatron asked, optics flashing in distress as an emotion so raw it hurt made Optimus’ field tremble.  
  
What was this kind of loyalty? What could cause this kind of vulnerability?  
  
What was this light in his spark? This dread of letting those touches fall away?  
  
What was this feeling that magnetized him to those crimson optics?  
  
“I don’t know…” The Prime finally muttered, and his gaze dropped to the floor between them as he admitted it to Megatron as well as himself. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what to do.”  
  
Fear electrocuted his field, zipping through and between where each of their edges were weaved before he could control it. The silver mech’s absorbed it, and instead of flinching away, the field spread to blanket him. His other servo reached out, hesitated, and then brushed over his vents of his cheek plating.  
  
“This frightens me too, Optimus... But a courtship doesn’t have to be hard.”  
  
Blue optics timidly rose from the floor, and Megatron met their gaze with a gentle expression.  
  
“If you do not want a courtship, all you have to do is tell me, and I will never force the matter upon you again… But if you do want this, and you trust me, I will show you what this can be… I would be honored to court you, Optimus Prime. All I ask is your permission.”  
  
Did he want this?  
  
Optimus felt those crimson optics boring into him, and he remembered how his view of them changed. He looked back on the files of the battle, and noticed the way Megatron stooped to adjust to his height. He recollected their arrival from the other universe, and how Megatron stayed behind with him on the crumbling fragments to ensure he made it through with his people. He recalled their first conversation in the Earth base, just days after they first met, and the conversation that changed everything. He remembered the way he aided him to stand, and how the Decepticon returned his sword as if it were an extension of the Prime.  
  
Did he want this?  
  
No one, not even his brother, had ever felt this way about him. And he’d never felt this way about anyone either…  
  
Perhaps it was time to allow for a change of his own.  
  
Taking in a vent, Optimus leaned into the servo on his faceplates as he nodded.  
  
“I give you my permission.”  
  
Megatron’s optics widened, and a solid fifteen nanoseconds passed without any reaction from the silver mech. When he did react, it came on the wind of a stunted exhale.  
  
“You do?”  
  
He asked, his rasp pronounced by the utter, disbelieving hope in his voice. Optimus’ lips twitched into a small grin, and he squeezed the claws he held onto as he nodded again.  
  
Megatron’s crimson optics had never flashed so bright, and Optimus felt his spark jump at the sight. For half a klik he breathed in and out shakily, his field quivering around them both. But soon after, he gathered himself, his claws closing over the Prime digits as he lifted them.  
  
“Then by my code,” he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss against the back of his servo. “I hope that I shall prove all that you want and need in the days to come.”  
  
Staring at his servo, Optimus couldn’t grasp how kind the gesture was, how light it felt against his plating. The area beneath his optics grew heated, and his field shimmered with an elation he hadn’t felt since before the war. Ducking his face in an unusual shyness, he could only barely glance up to meet the other’s optics.  
  
“You already are.”  
  
Megatron’s field pulsed with delight and affection, his claws stroking at his face. Optimus pushed into them, hoping that with every inch he leaned closer he could convey just how much this meant to him. As he did so, the other mech leaned in too, drawn by some invisible magnet that could’ve been the tightening grip of their fields. Cautiously they watched as the other approached, venting shakily until they could feel the heat of each other’s breath against their faces. Curiously, Optimus pulled himself up just a bit more. Megatron leaned down and met him in the middle.  
  
Their touch was so careful, so modest and simple. But as their lips pressed together, a barrier shattered in silence. They broke for a moment to meet each other’s gaze, then Megatron pressed into it again. Optimus inhaled as those clawed servos curled around him, lifting him partially off the ground. He wrapped his arms tightly around the other’s neck, his optics offlining as he focused on just that touch. That fond, affectionate, wonderful touch. Megatron pushed so much care into it, so much dedication and devotion unlike any he’d ever had the privilege to feel, and the first of many joyous sobs shook him.  
  
If this was a first kiss, then Optimus was beginning to understand what made them so special.  
  
***  
  
From outside the partially built clinic, the Prime observed the mecha inside. He watched as just inside the unfinished wall, his co-leader and his counterpart closed the distance between their frames. The met with a kiss, and did not separate again.  
  
He couldn’t help but smile. _What a positive effect indeed Optimus has brought to this universe._  
  
Courtesy protocols soon kicked in, and he shook his helm at himself for intruding on a clearly private moment. He turned away to finish his patrol shift, leaving the newly courting partners in peace.

**Author's Note:**

> TFP Prime ships them so hard he actually got them together. Well played, you tall nerd, well played.
> 
> This was actually an idea a commentor from the first story put out there. Commentor, you know who you are, I'll give you credit, thank you for the great idea :)
> 
> If anything else comes out of this series, it'll probably just get weirder. We'll see how the wind blows.


End file.
